Article: Phillip Island Penguins - Habits and Characteristics

By M.T.C.

Published in the Age, 11 February 1950

In the dimness of late evening, the people waited quietly. They were lined up on
the outside of each of the two short fences that ran the last 20 yards up the high
slope of the beach, into the first of the tussocked sandhills.

The fence posts were weathered and the barbed wire rusty and slack, but no one
thought of encroaching even an inch on the sandy stretch between the two railings.

That was the stage, all set for the show. And the actors - straight from the
sea - were expected at any moment!

Away to the left and to the right swept miles of lonely rock-bound coast, and
behind, stretching inland, were tufty, sandy paddocks where sheep grazed, and the
haunts of men were scattered and few. The big buses that had brought the crowd to
this spot on the southern tip of Phillip Island, at the mouth of Westernport, were
hidden by the belt of tea-tree.

The Arrival

In the half light, the powerful Bass Strait rollers were long ribbons of white
sweeping with a slow booming regularity into this short stretch of beach. All eyes
were fixed steadily on the wet patch left by every receding wave, straining harder
as the darkness deepened. Then a murmur, excited but softly spoken, alerted the
crowd. "Here they come!"

As the roller washed backwards after depositing its cargo, the little forms,
seeming to arise out of the sand Itself, stood erect on their two back webbed feet,
and, one by one, came forward until, just beyond reach or the next wave, they
paused to make formation.

They were the penguin parents - flightless birds of the sea - returning, after
a long day's fishing, with food for their offspring. Not until everyone of this
particular group – there were other groups forming at intervals along the stretch
of beach - had packed into close lines, a dozen or so abreast, like so many white
waist-coated soldiers, did they begin their march to the nests.

As they always come in from the sea at the same place, and the various groups
have their own spot for the march, the fences ensure them a clear passage and allow
the onlookers a good view, without any interference with the birds' habits.

Up the beach they toil, the grey-blue feathers on their backs and heads shining
wet. They are intent only on getting home to their children, and take little heed
of the portable spotlight trained on them.

However, the people watching from the outer darkness are asked to keep quiet,
just in case any bird takes fright and vomits up his catch before he gets to the
nest, in which case the unfortunate babies would go hungry.

Overburdened

They roll from side to side like good-natured drunks, their stomachs
overburdened with the weight of the food they carry – sometimes as much as 1lb.
their flippers, like two short fat arms, work rhythmically to keep their balance,
but sometimes they topple over and have to get up and start again. When this
happens, and they get isolated from their group, they wait for any other stragglers
that may be coming along, re-form and start off in an orderly fashion again.
Anxious to complete their day’s work, they are oblivious that they are offering
better entertainment to the silently watching humans than a night at the movies.

They know when they are getting near the tufty hummocks where their nests are,
and turn on a wild burst of speed for the last few yards. Just after the hatching,
when parenthood is still new and wonderful, they waste no time in forming up on
the sand and come smartly up the beach, but, as the babies get older, they get a
bit lax and are inclined to stop a minute or so to have a scratch and preen their
feathers.

Every morning before dawn – between 3.30 and 4 o'clock – during the summer
months, the penguin parents swim out to sea to fish. Though feathered like a
bird, they do not fly out, using their powerful arm-like flippers as paddles and
steering with their webbed feet, they cut through the water at a speed of 30 to
35 miles an hour. They swim beneath the surface, coming up every three or four
minutes to breathe, and have been seen by fishermen 30 miles out from their
haunts.

For the Hungry

They fish all day with their long, slightly curved beaks, choosing mostly
white-bait, and by nightfall, are stuffed with food for the hungry babies back
home. Once in their nests, they disgorge the predigested food and, judging by the
noise, the young appreciate papa and mama's efforts.

All over that rough stretch of headland, from nests concealed under the tussocky
grass and hidden by darkness, came a steady, penetrating chorus of delighted
squeals. The sound is staccato, like that of the rat, but varies greatly in volume
and depth.

After spending the winter months at sea, the birds return to this particular
corner of Phillip Island in September or October and lay their two eggs – about
as big as a pullet’s egg – in their deep, cosy burrow.

They use the same nests each year and these gradually get deeper as they are
cleaned out each season. The eggs take 28 days to hatch and each parent takes it
in turn to sit, while the other goes out to fish for food.

A close-up of a baby penguin, judged to be about five weeks' old, showed him
to be nearly as big as his parents, and covered in a coat of softest down,
grey-blue on top and beautifully white underneath. At 10 weeks the young are
ready to go to sea.

Though their actual burrows are fairly sheltered, their part of the island –
Penguin Corner – is that which juts boldly south into the tumbling waters of
Bass Strait. This is as far into the temperate regions as any penguins come.

These little Phillip Islanders are often called the "Fairy" penguins, and
are a much smaller species than those found in the Antarctic, measuring about
12 to 15 inches, against the three feet and a half and 80lb. weight of the
"Emperor" and "King" penguins.

They are black and white, either, like those in the colder regions, but
grey-blue and white. Their color is probably determined, as a safety device,
by their fishing haunts – blue for the water of Bass Strait and white for the
foam.

This page and its contents are copyright 2012 by Debra Lewis, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia.